Of Two Minds
by desolate butterfly
Summary: Draco Malfoy gets his first kiss. Draco Malfoy gets his last kiss. And then, Draco Malfoy gets revenge...
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Of Two Minds (01)  
**Author name:** Desolate Butterfly  
**Category:** Angst, AU  
**Sub Category:** Drama  
**Rating:** M  
**Spoilers:** SS/PS, CoS, PoA, GoF, OoTP  
**Summary:** Draco Malfoy gets his first kiss. Draco Malfoy gets his last kiss. And then...Draco Malfoy gets revenge.  
**DISCLAIMER:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.  
**Author notes:** For Ducks, who wanted a death fic. Here's half your wish. You really should've specified what you meant by "death" my dear.

* * *

"You came."

It was not a question; merely a calmly stated observation. Harry nodded his head in reply, flipping the wide arms of his robes out of his way so he could hug the young woman in front of him. Their embrace was short but fierce. Harry could feel where the weight had dropped off her already slight frame during the past few months. Her shoulder bones jutted sharply against the thin covering of black velvet that draped them.

"Hey Hermione," he whispered into her ear. He heard a suspicious sniffle but there was no trace of tears on her face when she pushed him back to get a good look at him.

"Hey yourself," she said. "How have you been?"

"I'm okay," he lied smoothly. "Things have quieted down considerably since...well, you know..."

"Liar," she teased, giving a lock of his dark hair a tweak. "You haven't been sleeping, have you? You've got bags the size of hippogriffs under your eyes."

Harry gave her a sheepish smile and poked his finger into her ribs, laughing as she twitched.

"And you," he grinned, "haven't been eating, so I guess we're even."

"Ron couldn't come," she said, adeptly changing the subject. "He's been pretty busy with his Auror Training. Besides which, I doubt he'd want to be here anyway. I have to be present for the Ministry but I didn't know for sure if you'd show up."

Harry's grin vanished and was replaced by a hardened expression. Something in the tightening of the mouth and narrowing of the eyes made him look much older then his eighteen years.

"I had to come," he said. "I'm the reason he's here in the first place. I owe it to him."

Hermione frowned as if she might argue with this, but only said, "I doubt he'll thank you for it."

"I don't expect him to."

After that statement, there seemed to be nothing more to say. Hermione motioned Harry to sit down in one of the chairs placed around the small wooden table, upon which sat the remains of afternoon tea. Harry glanced at the cup which Hermione placed in front of him and shook his head.

"I don't like it," he muttered. "We're here to witness an execution and they give us tea and crumpets like it's some kind of party."

Hermione shrugged and took a sip of her own tea. "Considering who we're executing, it probably seems like a party for some."

Harry shot a dark look at her, ready to snap back a harsh comment, but saw only a pained look of weariness on her face. '_She hates this as much as I do'_, he realized.

"Besides," she continued, "it's not really an execution. He'll still be alive, after all. Which is more then we can say for his victims."

There was a pause.

"You don't believe that."

"You're right. I don't."

"Then why did you say it?"

She flashed a small grin at him which didn't quite meet her eyes. "Come on Harry, surely you know how comforting fairy tales can be to a frightened child."

Harry got up from his chair to stand behind her, bending down to circle her shoulders with his arms once more. She let herself lean her cheek against his, wondering at the fact that even though Harry body was warm against her own, she felt nothing but cold.

It was in that position that Cornelius Fudge found them. The Minister of Magic cleared his throat, a scarlet flush lighting his face.

"If you are quite finished," Fudge sputtered, "perhaps we could get on with business?"

Harry stared stonily at the man and straightened. "Business..."

Fudge flinched at the tone but returned the glare with one of his own. "The execution," he clarified.

Hermione rose from her seat carefully, moving like a woman sixty years her senior. "Let's get this over with," she said quietly.

Harry nodded and followed her through the door, Fudge trailing behind them both. They walked through the darkened corridors swiftly. Hermione shivered at the icy cold of the air. Or maybe it was the faint screams and cries she could hear every so often that made her shudder violently. She couldn't tell.

They soon reached their destination: a small white room in which sat a single chair, chains and cuffs of glinting metal hanging loosely across it. As soon as Fudge entered the room the door from which they entered faded into the smooth white wall, leaving no trace of its existence. A doorway on the opposite side of the room suddenly appeared and through it strode an entourage consisting of two Dementors and, sandwiched between them, the prisoner.

Instantly, a wailing began in Harry's head and the urge to cast a Patronus, to flee, to do something besides stand there, hit him. He curled his hand into a fist to keep from gripping his wand and waited for the wards Hermione was casting to take effect. Soon the wailing faded and Harry could see the ancient markings outlining the place where he, Hermione, and Fudge were standing, blaze with power.

The Dementors herded their charge into the center of the room. A dirty mop of blonde hair obscured the face, but as the figure was pushed into the chair and the rattle of chains was heard the chin suddenly shot up in defiance, the grey eyes cold and furious.

"I refuse to be chained like an animal," it hissed.

"Well now, Mr. Malfoy, we can't exactly trust you to hold still for this," Fudge chortled. "The chains stay."

The body of the young man quivered with rage but submitted to the binding of his hands and feet to the chair. Once he was secured in place, the Dementors moved off to the side and Harry could see him clearly.

Draco Malfoy looked, for lack of a better word, horrible. He had always been thin but the sleek muscle of a Seeker's body had melted away into sharp bone hiding behind a thin layer of pale skin. His once richly golden hair had turned grey and brittle, and the tips fell half-way to his shoulders in a messy tangle. He looked so much smaller somehow, wearing the white cotton robes they had dressed him in, instead of the imposing Death Eater's robes he had been captured with. Harry looked down at his own black silk robes and Hermione's sombre dress and his lips twisted into a bitter smile.

_'We're the ones that look like Death Eater's now.'_

Malfoy caught his smile. "So you think this is funny, do you Potter?" he spat furiously, spots of colour lighting his sallow cheeks. "Care to share the joke? I could use a good laugh before you murder me."

"Hardly murder, Mr. Malfoy," Fudge interjected. "This is merely an execution of a dangerous criminal. In fact, you could call it pre-emptive self-defence."

Malfoy drew himself up as high as he could while chained to a chair. "You have a man chained in place, wandless, weaponless, and you are going to allow Dementors to suck his soul from his chest. That is not what I would call self-defence."

Fudge ignored this and motioned Hermione forward. She stepped closer, stopping just before the wards, and pulled a scroll from her sleeve.

"Draco Lucius Caius Malfoy," she read, "you have been convicted of the following crimes: illegal use of the dark arts, illegal use of the unforgivable curses, conspiracy against the Ministry, kidnapping, and 3 counts of murder in the second degree."

"Why is it," Malfoy asked, "that the killing of three Aurors who are throwing hexes and curses at you is murder but the killing of an unarmed man chained to a chair is self-defence?"

Hermione paused but did not acknowledge the comment. "For these crimes you have been found guilty on all counts. Your sentence, as issued by a jury of your peers--"

"Peers?" Malfoy snorted. "You've already killed all my peers, or have you forgotten? You would rather forget, wouldn't you Potter? Forget about Pansy and Vincent and Blaise and all the other classmates you ripped through into order to get to the Dark Lord. I hope it was worth it Potter. I hope it was worth all that blood on your hands to--"

"Mr. Malfoy," Fudge snapped, "must we gag you as well as chain you?"

The blonde quieted. His eyes bored steadily into Harry's until he could not take that steely grey look of reproach, of...betrayal? Harry looked away.

"Continue, Miss Granger," Fudge ordered.

Hermione's hands shook as she held the parchment but her voice did not waver in the slightest. "Your sentence, as issued by a jury of your peers, is death by use of The Kiss."

Malfoy did not so much a flinch at the words, though the Dementors at his side rustled impatiently at their mention.

"Thank you Miss Granger," Fudge said, stepping forward. A very pale Hermione stepped back and leaned gratefully against Harry's shoulder.

"Who witnesses this execution?"

"I do," Harry said.

"I do," whispered Hermione.

"Who carries out this execution?"

The Dementors rustled once more, announcing their presence, as if anyone in the room could forget they were there.

Cornelius Fudge nodded and clasped his hands. "Well everything seems to be in order. Any last requests Mr. Malfoy? Besides being released, that is."

Malfoy smiled coldly. "Actually I do have one request."

"And what is that?"

"A kiss."

Fudge laughed. "My dear boy, you already _are_ getting The Kiss. Perhaps the anticipation is making you delusional?"

"Not The Kiss," Malfoy said, "_a_ kiss. A real kiss. I've never had one and I don't fancy my first being from a Dementor."

Fudge did not look like he believed Malfoy's claim at such purity. For that matter, neither did anyone else in the room.

"You've never been kissed?" Fudge drawled. "How precious. Well _I_ certainly don't want to do the honours and I very much doubt Miss Granger will want to, seeing as how you almost hexed the legs off her fiancé..."

"I don't want to kiss the little mudblood," Malfoy sneered. "I want to go to my death without sicking up all over myself, thank you very much. No, I want Potter."

Harry's mouth dropped open in amazement. If there were three words he was forced to bet on Draco Malfoy never saying, "_I want Potter"_ would be it.

_'I want Potter _dead_, yes. I want Potter, no.'_

The rattle of Malfoy's chains shook Harry from his thoughts.

"Are you listening Potter?" Malfoy demanded as imperiously as one could when chained to a chair awaiting his own execution. "I said I want you to give me a kiss."

Harry frowned. "Why me, Malfoy? You hate me."

"Yes. I do."

"Then why?"

Malfoy seemed to slump in his chair. "It doesn't matter why," he muttered. "I'm going to die, my friends and family are already dead, I've never been kissed and I'm going to die and _you-owe-me-Potter_. Don't ask why."

"He's obviously gone insane," Fudge declared. "Let's get on with the execution--"

"Wait...he's right."

"Harry!" Hermione gave a worried tug on his sleeve. He shook her off impatiently.

"He's right. I owe him this one thing. Then it will be over. Just let me do this and it will all be over, okay?"

Fudge glared and pouted over being forced to stall the execution a bit longer, but he motioned the Dementors over into a contained space and Hermione released the wards so that Harry could walk over to where Draco sat. The blonde had a slightly mystified look on his face, as if he hadn't actually expected Harry to agree to this, but as Harry approached him he smirked.

"So Potter," he murmured, "I hope you know what an honour I'm giving you right now, stealing my first kiss."

"Shut up Malfoy," Harry growled. "I'm not stealing. You're the one _asking_ me to do it."

"That's right. If I'm going to go down, I'll at least go down humiliating the Boy-Who-Lived."

Harry rolled his eyes, bent over and quickly pressed his lips to Draco's, only catching the very corner of the blonde's mouth before pulling back. Draco stared up at him blankly.

"You call that a kiss, Potter? I may not exactly be experienced in these things, but I know there's got to be more to kissing then that."

Harry scowled and then knelt down before Draco's chair so he wouldn't have to stoop over him. He still had at least two inches of height over Draco, even while kneeling by his chair, so the position wasn't at all awkward when he leaned over once again to cover the man's mouth with his own. He stayed longer this time, feeling how dry and chapped Draco's lips were underneath his own. Still, the mouth beneath his parted easily and Harry discovered that Draco tasted vaguely of pears and clover, dark but softly sweet. Draco's tongue pushed its way past Harry's lips and he suddenly felt dizzy and had to grip the arms of Draco's chair to keep himself from falling onto the other man's chest. A strange buzzing started to sound in Harry's head and the warmth pulsing from Draco's mouth into his was frightening in its intensity. Gasping, Harry tore his lips away from Draco's and staggered back to the safety of Hermione's wards.

"Are you okay?" Hermione looked so worried that even though the buzzing in Harry's head had increased, he felt like laughing.

"It was only a kiss," he said. "Even if it was from a Malfoy. It won't kill me."

Her frown did not lessen, but she stopped staring at him and focused on the blonde in the middle of the room who was now slumped in his chair, eyes closed, seemingly oblivious to the world.

"Well now that's over with," Fudge said. "We can start."

As the Dementors converged on the blonde, Harry shut his eyes, unable to watch. Hermione shuddered at his side, her nails digging into his arm. It was over very quickly.

Later that night, when Harry had stripped off his robes and climbed into bed, he was sure he could hear Draco's accusing voice in his ears.

_'You've stolen everything from me Potter. I'm going to haunt you for the rest of your life you bastard.'_

It was a very long time before Harry could fall asleep.

...To Be Continued...


	2. Chapter 2

**Title:** Of Two Minds (02)  
**Author name:** Desolate Butterfly  
**Category:** Angst, AU  
**Sub Category:** Drama  
**Rating:** M  
**Spoilers:** SS/PS, CoS, PoA, GoF, OoTP  
**Summary:** Harry has an unsettling experience. But then, so does Draco Malfoy.  
**DISCLAIMER:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.  
**  
**

* * *

Harry walked along the corridors of the Ministry of Magic, a folder under his arm and a considerable amount of dragging weariness in his step. His sleep had been brief and troubled and not even the double shot of espresso had managed to erase that fuzzy blur from his vision or the faint pounding in his head. At least freshening charms had done away with the dark bags under his eyes. Hermione was likely to throw a fit if she thought he wasn't sleeping again, even after she gave that potion. 

_'Morpheus Muddle's Sleep Ease-Z Draught. New and improved so that it doesn't taste like cherry-flavoured mothballs...yeah right.'_

He hated sleeping potions. They always managed to make him feel sluggish and drained when he finally woke, like he had been fighting something he couldn't remember. Nightmares, as far as he could tell. He didn't like not knowing. At least when he remembered his nightmares he could commit them to a Pensieve and work them out. The ones he forgot only turned up as formless shadows which he could never quite get rid of. And Dreamless Sleep hadn't worked since Voldemort had fucked with his mind in fourth year.

He finally arrived at Hermione's office door, which was slightly ajar. Inside he could hear two familiar voices talking quietly with each other. Harry smirked.

_'So Ron dropped by today after all. I wonder if he's managed to convince Hermione that kilts would not be a good idea for the groomsmen yet.'_

Grinning broadly, Harry swung open the door and stepped inside.

"Hey you two, I hope I'm not interrupting anything. Still got all your clothes on, right? I've caught you in this office before..."

Ron and Hermione turned to face Harry, the blood draining from their faces.

"What the hell are _you_ doing here?" Ron demanded, a sneer curling his lip.

Confused, Harry let the grin drop. His friends were staring at him suspiciously, like he had breached an area which he was definitely not allowed into. Harry wondered if he had missed a do-not-disturb sign on the door or something. He hoped they weren't fighting. He couldn't afford to keep buying beers for Ron to mope into, or shirts for Hermione to cry on whenever they decided to be gits to each other. He took a step forward, palm up in a conciliatory gesture.

"Wow, it looks like I have interrupted something. I'm really sorry guys, I just wa--"

"You're _supposed_ to be dead," Hermione interrupted.

"Huh?" Harry's jaw dropped open.

"Ron, he's supposed to be dead. _Do_ something!"

Ron drew his wand from the holster strapped to his thigh, pointing it straight at Harry, who took a startled step backwards.

"I don't know how the hell you got out, but I'm going to finish what should have been done years ago. _Constringo!_"

Harry stumbled as ropes suddenly sprang out of Ron's wand, wrapping him in an almost suffocating embrace. Auror training kicked in and Harry cut the ropes with a muttered spell and reflexively sent a stunner in Ron's direction. Ron lurched out of the way and the spell glanced off his shoulder, spinning him around and back into Hermione's desk. Harry winced at the painful sound of Ron's hip impacting with the hard wood.

"Shit, I'm sorry Ron. I didn't mean to--I just--I don't understand."

Immediately, Hermione was at Ron's side, one hand on his shoulder and the other holding a wand that she pointed directly at Harry's chest.

"Stop calling him Ron," she shouted. "He's never been anything but another poor Weasley to you! Someone to mock and hurt because you think you're better then he is!"

"That's not true," Harry murmured, suddenly feeling dizzy. What was happening to him, to everyone? Had they gone crazy? Had _he_ gone crazy? Harry was so shocked he failed to react in time, as Hermione raised her wand and opened her mouth.

"_Stupefy!__Immobilus_!"

He was on the ground, the carpet rough against his cheek. He was on the ground. Why were they doing this to him? What had he done to make them hate him so much? He should be able to shake the spells off. He had done so many times in training. Why couldn't he break free?

"I can't move," Harry whispered. "Ron you've got to help me. Ron..."

"Oh I'll help you Malfoy," Ron sneered, leaning down to confiscate Harry's wand. "Help you back to Azkaban where you belong, that is."

_'Malfoy...'_

Harry squirmed, trying to find the energy to get up.

"It's me, Ron. It's Harry. I'm _Harry_."

"Is that the best you can come up with? You think I don't know my best friend from a slimy murdering Death Eater, Malfoy? Don't make me laugh."

"I'm Harry! I swear, I'm Harry! Why don't you believe me? Hermione..."

She looked down at him coolly, her eyes showing no hint of the softness she'd always shown whenever she looked at her two best friends. Her lips were pressed into a thin white line.

"If you're Harry Potter," she said, "then why do you have _this_?"

She yanked up the right sleeve of his robes to display the Dark Mark, ugly and livid against his too pale skin. Pale skin...

"Enjoy your time in Azkaban, Malfoy."

As Aurors swept into the room and bound Harry securely in charmed handcuffs, he caught a glimpse of white blonde hair and a pointed chin in the reflection of the metal.

"Let's hope they make sure he stays dead this time," Ron said as the Aurors carted him away.

"I'm just glad Harry wasn't here to see this," Hermione confessed, using a spell to twitch her desk back into place after Ron's collision with it had moved it. "He'd probably get all upset."

_'But _I'm_ Harry! I'm Harry, I'm Harry, I'm Harry,_ _I'm Harry, I'm--'_

"Harry...Harry! Wake up would you, I need a favour. HARRY."

"Wha..." His eyes opened sluggishly to reveal a hazy orange blob in front of him. A quick fumble for his glasses on the bedside table and the orange blob turned into his fireplace, where the fire that Dobby must have recently started contained a frowning face dancing in its flames.

Quickly, Harry rolled back the right sleeve of his sweat soaked pyjamas. A few scars crisscrossed his wrist, but the skin was tanned and otherwise unblemished. He sighed in relief, feeling a bit silly for needing to check.

"Harry? I know you're in there, dammit. C'mon, wake up!"

Harry crawled out of bed and plunked down in front of the fireplace. For a moment, he couldn't place the face in the flames, but a sudden sarcastic roll of the eyes made it clear.

"Lynn?"

"Hey Har, sorry to call so early. Gee you look terrible; you should try to get more sleep."

Harry glared at the young Auror. "Thanks for the tip. How early is it anyway?"

"Six thirty," Lynn replied, glibly. "Look, I need a favour. You know those files on the Berkley case that I was supposed to have into the Chief today..."

"What about them."

"Well, I just remembered that I also promised to investigate that new strain of curses with Hopkins in Coltshire today, so I was wondering if you'd kindaliketodotheformsforme," she finished with a mumble.

Harry crossed his arms. "You want me to do your paper work for you."

"Uh huh."

"While you're out doing exciting investigative work."

"Yep."

"With the cutest guy on the team."

It was true. Jeremy Hopkins _was_ the cutest guy in the Sixth Division, with his slightly curly brown hair and bright blue eyes framed with ridiculously long black lashes. He wasn't a bad Auror either, which didn't help his popularity at all. Harry had been openly bisexual since his last year at Hogwarts, and had considered asking Jeremy Hopkins out once or twice. He didn't relish the idea of having a relationship with someone he had to work with though. The awkwardness around the office, combined with the fact that being an Auror was dangerous enough without being attached to the ever targeted Boy-Who-Lived, kept Harry from really seriously considering Hopkins boyfriend material. It irked him, however, that Lynn seemed to have no such qualms.

"Please Har, I promise I'll make it up to you. I'll bring scones on Tuesday," Lynn wheedled.

"Cinnamon, no raisons. And I'll need coffee too. The good stuff."

"Thanks Harry! You're the best."

"I know."

"Better start getting ready for work, Har. It's almost seven already."

And then Lynn's head was gone from the fireplace and Harry was left alone. Sighing, he called Dobby to start the coffee brewing and locked himself into the bathroom so he could make himself look at least semi-presentable for work.

Dobby had followed him after he'd finished Hogwarts, and no matter how much Harry claimed he didn't need a house elf, he had to admit that it was a lot easier to have Dobby then it would be to look after Grimmauld Place by himself with the erratic hours he kept. It was Dobby that had swept the house clean of any remaining pesky dark creatures, fixed up the particularly dilapidated areas, and gotten rid of (thank Merlin) the portrait of Siruis' Mother. And all for the low price of two galleons a month and all the socks Harry could transfigure. The only annoyance was Dobby's sometimes overwhelming concern with Harry's eating and sleeping habits. Something that Hermione unfortunately encouraged. Harry, who regarded coffee as the only main food group, was rather tired of waking up to six course breakfasts and lunches that would feed the entire Order of the Phoenix, including Mundungus Fletcher. He was also tired of finding bottles of sleeping potions on his bedside table every so often.

_'Maybe I should have taken Hermione's potion last night. That dream...'_

Flashes of the dark mark burned into the pale flesh of his arm and Ron's sneering face danced behind Harry eyes. He remembered the feel of cold iron fastening around his wrists and shuddered, his throat closing for a moment with fear and confusion.

**_Now you know what it feels like, Potter._**

Harry shook his head, clearing the slight dizziness away. He looked in the bathroom mirror to see the same dark unruly hair, green eyes, and jagged scar he'd always had. And while he was a good deal paler then health would warrant there was definitely no hint of blonde in his hair, or tint of grey in his eyes. He was still Harry Potter.

_'Harry Potter. So why does my conscience suddenly sound like the voice of Draco Malfoy?'_

"Harry Potter sir, your breakfast is looking ready. It is not good if Harry Potter's breakfast is getting cold."

"I'll be out in a minute Dobby," Harry called, quickly shucking his clothing and turning on the shower. Perhaps hot water would erase the sudden feeling that his skin was trying to crawl off his bones and away.

Draco Malfoy restlessly paced the confines of his prison. It was not supposed to happen this way. The spell had been performed correctly, he was sure of it, but something must have gone wrong because he was _not_ supposed to be trapped inside Harry Potter's body. He was _supposed_ to have control over Harry Potter's body. And Potter was supposed to be gone, away, wherever spirits went when they were pushed out of their bodies, wherever Draco's spirit would have gone if he'd actually allowed that stupid Dementor to suck out his soul.

Instead, Harry Potter was still happily moving about in control of his own body, only with an added passenger.

And passenger was all he was it seemed. Draco had tried to make Potter pinch himself for the last fifteen minutes and the annoying git had not so much as twitched under Draco's direction. Apparently, someone had been teaching Potter Occlumency.

It probably was that old fart Dumbledore. Or perhaps Snape taught him, traitorous bastard. Well there's got to be some way around it. I'm not going to play parasite to Potter for the rest of my life.

A fresh wave of fury and frustration broke over him and he _pushed_ against the mental bars of his cage, wailing. Outside himself, he felt emotions he knew were not his own. He saw scraps of Potter's nightmare. Felt the cold metal. Felt the body around him shiver.

**_Now you know what it feels like Potter. Get used to it. There's more where that came from._**

Suddenly exhausted from the effort of that last push, Draco drew into himself, trying to ignore the dizziness and nausea of Potter's body. He would conserve his energy until the chance to push Potter out of this body came, and then...then he would have a little _fun_.

...To Be Continued...


	3. Chapter 3

**Title:** Of Two Minds (03)  
**Author name:** Desolate Butterfly  
**Category:** Drama, AU  
**Sub Category:** General  
**Rating:** M  
**Spoilers:** SS/PS, CoS, PoA, GoF, OoTP  
**Summary:** Draco tests the limits of his control while Harry tries to get on with his life.  
**DISCLAIMER:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.  
**Author notes:** Warning: Little tiny bit of sexuality at the beginning. Nothing very explicit, though I do take requests. :smirks:

* * *

It was in the shower that Harry first noticed it: a strange reddened mark in a flower-shaped blotch about half-way up his chest. His fingers rubbed at it, curiously. 

_'It doesn't hurt at all. I wonder if I rolled over on something in the night. Or maybe those new robes are giving me a rash...'_

Harry's fingers circled the mark a few more times and for just a moment something shifted. His senses seemed to sharpen but at the same time, he felt distanced from them, as if he were only watching himself from far away. The rush of water pelting down from the showerhead thundered in his ears and rained down on his skin, feeling just a touch cooler than he liked, although the temperature setting had not been adjusted in any way. Harry shivered, his skin prickling with goosebumps in a sudden sensitivity that made him gasp in surprise.

He watched, fascinated, as the droplets of water trickled their way down his chest, parting from each other and then streaming together into rivulets that led down to the slightly concave valley of his stomach. Not usually one to look closely at his own body, Harry noticed, with a strange sense of curiosity, the way his abdominal muscles shifted and flexed as he moved, and the way water clung to the curve of his ribs which were just visible underneath his skin. Harry was still horribly skinny; although years of Quidditch had toned his arms and stomach so that muscle had filled him out a bit.

Harry's attention turned back to where his hand was wandering across his chest. He noted, with interest, the darker tan of the back of his hands against the pale peachy colour of his torso. He noted how long his fingers were, long enough to reach and grasp for a Snitch in mid-flight. He noted the faint stain of ink on one finger, which spoke of clumsiness with a quill. He noted the shortness of his fingernails and the ragged edges which suggested that he had a habit of biting them (which he did not, certain aspects of his work just involved the rough treatment of fingernails). He noted that the mark on his chest seemed to get redder the more he looked at it.

The fingers circling the mark twitched once, twice, and then darted up unexpectedly to caress a dusky, cinnamon-tipped nipple, as if of their own volition. The flat disc pebbled and hardened immediately and Harry felt an echoing stir in his groin. A sudden heat of arousal pulsed through his body and Harry moaned and threw his head back with the intensity of it.

**_Very nice_**, something whispered in the back of his mind.

Harry flushed in embarrassment at the thought and quickly got control of himself. The heightened sensations were abruptly cut off as his hand reached for the soap instead of where it was previously edging towards. The water felt once again just like shower water instead of driving rain, not too hot, not too cold. Harry lathered and sluiced his body quickly, with a familiar detachment this time, instead of the enthralled detachment of the previous moment. Outside the bathroom he could hear silverware clanking as Dobby set his breakfast table and the thought of the house elf perhaps being able to hear his un-stifled exclamation of pleasure quickly eradicated any temptation to indulge in a spot of pleasure in the shower.

_'You don't have time for **that**,'_ he scolded himself as he washed his hair. _'If you're lucky you'll have time for a cup of coffee and one of Dobby's breakfast plates. So get the hormones under control...you are **not** fifteen anymore.'_

By the time Harry had stepped out of the shower and dressed in his work robes, the feelings of arousal his 'explorations' had triggered were gone. However, as he pulled a shirt down over his stomach, Harry caught a glimpse of the mark in stark relief against his skin in the mirror and remembered the strange sensation that his fingers weren't _his_ and wanted things he didn't authorize...

He swallowed hard and then pulled the heavy outer robe on overtop, buttoning it securely in place. Scowling in the mirror with his best Snape impression, Harry managed to rid the remaining blush from his cheeks and straightened his shoulders.

Stern. Proper. Perfect.

_'I really need a shag.'_

_

* * *

_

Draco Malfoy stroked his fingers against his pointed chin, tapping his lips with a single pale digit in thought. He smiled wolfishly in delight and sat back against the confines of his prison with an ease he had not felt since he had thrust himself into the unsuspecting Harry Potter's mind and body.

His energy was drained from the exertion it took just to move a few fingers for the space of a minute, however the experiment had been worth it. Not only did he know that he _could_ control Potter's body, it seemed that Potter's body might not be so very loath to being controlled--if he went about it carefully.

**_In-ter-esting,_** he drawled, the glee unmasked in his voice. **_Very interesting. I wonder..._**

**_

* * *

_**

By the time Harry arrived at his desk he was only thirty-three seconds late. Unfortunately, there was already a message on top of the stack of paperwork Lynn had piled in no particular order next to his quill set, with Percy Weasley's perfect cursive handwriting on it, reminding Harry that "tardiness was not appreciated" and could he please "set a good example" for the others in the department.

Ever since Fudge had made Percy his personal secretary, there had been a general crackdown on the previously lax way in which business seemed to operate before "The Dread Red" made his way into the upper regions of power within the Ministry. And while Harry appreciated some of the changes, such as Percy's insistence on safety measures being observed at all times in all divisions, and the restrictions on sharing information with _The Daily Prophet_ for security reasons, other changes, like the new "tardiness tally" were not greeted with enthusiasm.

The system operated almost like House Points, with every second of lateness leading to a stronger reprimand until finally a visit down to Fudge's office for a "talk" would be in order.

Crumpling the memo, Harry tossed it into the wastebasket at the side of his desk and watched as it vanished before hitting the shiny metal bottom. All paper waste immediately went to storage where it would be kept for a couple days, just in case an important document had been shuffled in with scrap parchment. It was generally decided that if no one came rushing down to the Sorting Room within three days of throwing out whatever it is they really didn't want to throw out after all, then it really didn't matter much anyway and the papers were destroyed.

The Paper Storage Room was another one of Percy's ideas, and a rather good one at that, considering how absent minded and/or incompetent most of the bureaucrats at the Ministry seemed to be. However it meant that if you really wanted any paper you threw out to remain private, you'd have to _Incendio_ it yourself. A lesson well learned after a love note from one of the workers in the Office of Misinformation was thrown out by the Welcome Witch to whom it was given. The note was passed around the Ministry for months by snickering co-workers until finally the young wizard who wrote it claimed that it was only an exercise in creating believable misinformation and not an actual love letter. Whether or not his colleagues actually believed this is a moot point, as the wizard relocated himself to the Ministry branch in Norway a scant two days after his declaration.

Harry sat down at his desk and looked around the cubicle walls which displayed in no particular order the various pictures and maps that outlined the current cases his team was working on. One picture in particular caught his eye.

In the photo was a ragged, pale-faced Draco Malfoy with his arm around holding up a fainting Pansy Parkinson as streaks of light from various curses and hexes shot past them, turning the photo odd shades of green, red, and purple intermittently. In the background, the foot of one Gregory Goyle could be seen pointed skyward, lifelessly limp. The picture had been taken during the last big stand-off between the remaining Death Eater's children and the Ministry's Aurors. The deaths of Parkinson, Goyle, Crabbe, Nott, and Zabini. The capture of Draco Malfoy.

Curiously, Harry noticed that instead of snarling in rage at anyone who approached the photo as per usual, Malfoy's face was as expressionless as it had been after receiving The Kiss. His body remained utterly motionless, instead of tugging at or cradling Pansy Parkinson's still form as it had done before. If the spells being cast at the group weren't still moving back and forth around the pair, Harry might have been tempted to think it a Muggle photograph.

Frowning, Harry unstuck the photo from the wall of his cubicle with a muttered spell and sent it into the trash where it vanished in the same manner as Percy's memo. He didn't need any more reminders of Draco Malfoy.

"Knock knock!"

Harry whirled around to find a familiar face in the doorway.

"Tonks!"

"Wotcher Harry. Have you got those papers for the Berkley case, by any chance? I wouldn't ask so early, only, Lynn told me you'd have them and Kingsley's driving all of us up the wall to get them processed this morning."

Tonks' eyes twinkled at him mischievously and she twined a lock of bright pink hair around her finger as she talked.

Harry quirked an eyebrow at her. "And just when did Lynn tell you this?"

"Oh, last night around ten o'clock."

"Well she told _me_ this morning around six thirty," Harry said, rolling his eyes. "And since I just got in, I haven't even cracked the cover of the first file. Can you stall Kingsley for me?"

"Sure," Tonks chirped happily. "I'll just knock over his coffee on some papers and listen to him give the "let's all be careful and considerate" lecture while he administers cleaning spells again. That should give you at least half an hour."

"Thanks."

"No problem. I probably would have knocked his coffee over anyway. At least now I can say there was a goal in mind instead of just plain clumsiness."

Harry gave her a smile and a wave as she left his cubicle, managing to upset only a few of the photos and maps on the walls as she went. He turned his attention to the Berkley file.

Joseph Berkley had been under investigation for months following the disappearance of his wife, Emma Berkley. It was suspected that in the last few days before the fall of Voldemort, Berkley had killed his wife using an Unforgivable in order to prove his allegiance to the Dark Lord. Berkley had escaped capture by the Hit Wizards, but his wand had been retrieved for examination and they were almost certain that it had been tampered with. For some reason _Priori Incantatem _refused to work on Berkley's twelve-inch-elm-with-hippogriff-hair-core wand, and several Auror's, including the Magical Research Committee, of which Hermione was the Head, were working on finding out why.

In the meantime, Berkley's whereabouts had been narrowed down to a specific area of Muggle Scotland, where, hopefully, a team of Auror's would be ambushing him today around noon. The forms had to be filled out in triplicate and sent to the Administration Services Council of Magical Law before Berkley could be charged with anything more lasting than illegal portkey usage.

Harry dutifully began to work his way through the stack of forms, filling out information such as dates, times, names and general descriptions and explanations. Half-way through the pile his hand started to cramp and he glared at the blunted end of his quill.

_'Lynn, they better be the best goddamn scones I've ever tasted or else I'm making sure Kingsley gives you desk duty for the rest of the year.'_

By the time Harry signed his name on the last sheet and then cast a duplication spell (or would that be a triplication spell?) on the whole stack, Kingsley Shacklebolt was already pushing his way into Harry's cubicle, demanding the Berkley files and dabbing at a spreading coffee stain on the cuff of his robes.

"All in order Potter?" he asked sharply.

"Yes sir."

"Good, good. Look, I don't suppose you'd mind..." he held up his sleeve.

Harry hid a grin and drew his wand. "Of course sir. Just hold a moment--there."

Harry administered the required cleaning spell and the coffee stain disappeared. Shacklebolt's expression softened a bit.

"Thanks Potter. My cleaning charms are great for paper but for some reason fabric never agrees with them. Anyway, young Weasley is having his aptitude test today. I thought you might like to be there."

Harry brightened at the thought of seeing Ron take his test.

_'I hope he passes. He's worked so hard for it.'_

"I'd love to be there sir."

"Good," grunted Shacklebolt. "Take Tonks with you. Keep her away from the desks with important papers on them for a least a few hours."

This time Harry did grin.

"Yessir!"

All thought of the Berkley case slipped from his mind as he hurried to find Tonks so they could get out to the Training Room to watch the practical examination take place.

* * *

Draco Malfoy shifted and fidgeted as he waited for his full strength to return. He had thought, briefly, about trying to take control and wipe the stupid smile off Nymphadora Tonks' face, but decided it wasn't worth the effort.

**_My Muggle-loving cousin seems to have made a place for herself in the Ministry. Her Metamorphmagus ability may come in handy if I ever get the chance to make the jump into her body. And since the incantation has to be triggered with close contact, it wouldn't do to scare her off now._**

He sneered and watched disinterestedly through Potter's eyes as the Nuisance-Who-Lived navigated the halls of the second level of the Ministry of Magic, and tried to dismiss the slightly nauseous feeling of being in motion while not actually moving.

**_It will be much more gratifying to experiment with my amount of control on the Weasel anyway._**

He recalled the night when Pansy and Goyle had been stupid enough to try to lure Potter by kidnapping Weasley. He remembered how repeated stupefaction hexes by a suddenly _not_ unconscious Weasley had proved too much for Pansy, and her heart had given out as she dangled lifelessly in his arms.

He recalled how Goyle had succumbed a moment later to a _Petrificus Totalus _that had blasted him off his feet and his head onto a nearby rock, which succeeded in giving him a concussion-induced coma he would never awaken from.

He recalled sending a nearly successful severing curse at the Weasel that would have almost--_almost_--separated his legs from the rest of his body, if it had not been for that blasted Potter getting in his way with a well placed _Protego_.

**_And you shall pay for that Potter,_** he swore, gritting his teeth in irritation at his current level of impotence.

**_You _shall****_ pay! But first_**, he smiled, **_first the Weasel and the Mudblood._**

Draco laughed and flexed his fingers, curling them into a fist.

**_I'm in your mind Potter. Where you can't ever escape me. I'm in your mind..._**

He rapped his fist against the walls of his prison and smiled when they bent outwards slightly under his touch.

_**Might as well fuck with it.**_

_**

* * *

**_

...To Be Continued..._ **  
**_


End file.
